Maybe he just ran out of fuel, like the others.
Maybe I burned too hard for him, and burned him out, burned him down. Perhaps that’s why there looks like there’s nothing left. Nothing left for him to give, and nothing left inside.
Maybe I’m fated to walk the earth as Madame Pyre, burning and consuming love after love, none surviving, none lasting – taking everything, drying them up until they have nothing left to give. Discarding their shells and walking on. And then, in those times when I find myself alone, with no one to love – no one to let me love them – I will turn, and burn, and eat my own heart out. Like I do now. And it aches. God, it aches.
Maybe that’s all I am. Something that’s eternally hungry, burning constantly, and sucking the oxygen out of the air. Devouring everything down to ash, down to nothing. Screaming through crowds like fire screams down hillsides – taking everything in my path, only screaming and growing and roaring and burning as I go.
Out of the ash I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.